


Natural Women

by Wheely_Jessi



Category: Call the Midwife
Genre: Canon Era, F/F, Fluff, Inspired by Music, Mild Sexual Content, Mild Smut, One Shot, Post-Canon, Songfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-22
Updated: 2020-11-22
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:36:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27668977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wheely_Jessi/pseuds/Wheely_Jessi
Summary: Autumn 1967. A canon era AU one shot where they didn't leave/move up to Scotland.After Remembrance weekend, Patsy thanks Delia for her unwavering support by buying her one of their favourite new singles, then letting it accompany...other activities.I’ve been reassured it’s ‘M’, but I’d say it’s still probably NSFW, just to be safe.
Relationships: Delia Busby & Patsy Mount, Delia Busby/Patsy Mount
Comments: 12
Kudos: 29





	Natural Women

**Author's Note:**

> Posted after discussions about important songs on the Pupcake Discord (join us! The community spirit is so lovely!). I wrote this ages ago – as in at least two years back – and was never brave enough to post it. But now I’ve been encouraged, so here it is. Inspired by Aretha Franklin’s version of “(You Make Me Feel Like A) Natural Woman”, which you can listen to here: https://youtu.be/HgXQIW73i4A 
> 
> Thanks for reading <3

On the evening of Monday the thirteenth of November 1967, Patsy was trying to embody her namesake virtue and wait patiently for Delia to return home to their flat, without panicking too much at the thought of her beloved brunette careering over the cobbles of Poplar in an effort to get back quicker. She knew the younger woman would be tired – Trixie had telephoned to say she had been called out to a long labour with a nervous new mother – and she also knew the more intense shift was mostly her fault. As always at the time of year (or at least since they had both been working under the same roof and rules at Nonnatus House) Delia took up the slack for Patsy who, as Phyllis had recently put it, “felt the national mood around Remembrance Sunday more keenly than most of the younger generation”.

Understandably, apparently.

Every November since she had come back from Hong Kong, the nuns and nurses contrived to organise the rota in such a way that she would have the relevant weekend off. They had begun discreetly, of course, aware she would protest – but eventually her guilt had morphed into gingerly-expressed gratitude. Because, four years into psychotherapy at the Tavistock Clinic, she could admit (still somewhat begrudgingly) that their belief that she needed not merely the space but the _permission_ to process her emotions was correct. So, for once, she had not complained at all when it had come around again.

But that meant she let herself feel.

And, however sincere Delia was when she promised to shoulder her sadness and hold her whilst she sobbed, Patsy was all too keenly aware it took a toll on her as well. So much so that, as she parked her bike outside their shared sanctuary, the younger woman would probably be bracing herself for a torrent of tears.

And the cautious call she heard when the front door opened and shut and Delia kicked off her work shoes told the redhead she was right. ‘Pats, _cariad_?’

‘In the kitchen, Deels, darling!’ The brightness in her tone would likely be taken as a cause for concern, but she was genuinely happy for the first time in what felt like ages, and hoped to show that through her smile as Delia entered the room. ‘I’ve made noodles for supper, love,’ she purred, her smile widening as she closed the gap between them. ‘I thought you could use some simple nourishment after a long day of district nursing and deliveries.’

‘Was that wise after this weekend, _cariad_?’ the Welshwoman whispered gently, clearly not yet convinced by her change in mood.

So when she replied, she mixed practicality with a cheeky proposal. ‘I thought it might help, actually, and it did. They aren’t quite done yet, though, so I wondered if you might like some dessert first?’

A pair of brunette eyebrows shot up at the barely-concealed undertones of that supposedly innocent question. ‘Patience Elizabeth Mount!’

‘Is that a yes, Delia Busby?’

At last she got a glimpse of her favourite dimples. She had hoped her forwardness would work – it was rare she found the confidence, and she knew _Delia_ knew better than to knock her back now. ‘All right, _annwyl_ ,’ the smaller woman agreed, her voice husky, ‘as long as you tell me what I’ve done to deserve this lovely surprise.’

Patsy snorted at the addition in a most unladylike manner. ‘I think it’s more a case of what you haven’t done – may I just list those things? It’ll be quicker.’ She paused, waiting for her favourite nurse’s nod, which arrived on cue because the brunette’s curiosity had been well and truly caught. ‘You haven’t minded when you had to change your uniform because I got it snotty. You haven’t moaned once about the heavier shifts you take on to compensate for my annual inadequacy at this point each autumn. You haven’t left me lying in a heap when I’ve been heaving out sobs about things we’ve been over so many times before. You haven’t left me full stop, actually, in spite of all the difficulties our relationship presents –’

Delia jumped in. ‘I’m never going to leave you, _cariad_ – we’ve been together nine years, and engaged for the second time for nearly five –’

‘I know, but that’s my point,’ she cut in, herself. ‘You helped me understand that I was worth staying with. And this year that is even more special, because we’re legal now. Not that women like us ever were properly recognised, but the feeling of being “unnatural” was always there. Especially after the War, for me. You helped to break that down from the very first moment we met. You were the first person I _voluntarily_ told about any of it. And I think about _that_ every year just as much as I do about them. So tonight I thought I’d let you know that through our favourite mutual language –’

‘Music?’ Delia asked softly, her eyes shining with tears.

Patsy nodded, leaning down to kiss away the few drops spilling over onto her darling’s cheeks, before whispering in her ear. ‘And making love. I have a new record ready in the Dansette on the dresser…’

Her fiancée’s face was now suitably flustered, but she managed a single, albeit heavily-accented, sentence, gripping onto Patsy’s pyjamas for support. ‘Take me to bed, then.’

Delighted, the older woman did as asked, scooping up her younger beloved bridal-fashion and carrying her through to the room they both knew intimately – although the ruling earlier that year had made them brave enough to swap the twin beds (as surreptitiously as possible) for a proper double. Placing her precious cargo in the centre of its comparatively great expanse, and laughing as her lover stretched each of her limbs as wide as they could go, Patsy returned to practicality for a bare moment whilst she switched on their record player.

Then, to the opening riffs of the piano, she faced the bed again and asked one final question. ‘May I undress you, Deels?’

The brunette nodded, her eyes darkening, so her tall titian partner bounced eagerly down beside her and started removing articles of clothing in time with the carefully-purchased tune. (It had been quite a struggle to keep her fiancée out of record shops in the gap between its release and Remembrance weekend, to stop _her_ buying it, but somehow she had managed it.)

‘ _Looking out on the morning rain  
I used to feel so uninspired  
And when I knew I had to face another day  
Lord, it made me feel so tired’_

And tonight, Patsy thought, when she captured her favourite lips for a kiss as she peeled the stockings from that loveliest pair of legs, the patient persuasion had paid off – because she could show Delia how much she appreciated not just everything she did and said, but every inch of her beautiful body.

With Aretha Franklin as affirmation.

Another single from Atlantic Records had sped across the actual Atlantic and found an immediate home in their hearts, and she was so very glad. There were so many songs which meant so much, but with this one, _this year_ , it felt as if a trinity of musical souls (Franklin, King and Goffin, in this instance) had aligned in approbation of the music their own souls made together.

_‘Before the day I met you, life was so unkind  
But you're the key to my peace of mind’_

And the sentiment was just perfect.

Like her lover.

Her “dearest Deels”, who really was the key to her peace of mind.

Or rather had helped her find her own key, she clarified internally, as she kissed her way down from those darling dimples to the nook of an equally darling neck, which she nuzzled and kissed and tugged at lightly with her teeth whilst her hands found _their_ way beneath the brunette’s blue uniform and upwards… and upwards… and upwards… past the place she was probably expecting, until they met the garment they sought.

Not her knickers, but her bra.

Which, thankfully, was fastened with a simple clasp. For ease of undoing, since, by her own private admission, Nurse Busby’s glorious chest made the otherwise unflappable Nurse Mount come almost undone herself.

Hence her surprise when her sweetheart cut across the song to speak. ‘Aren’t you going to take the top down, too, _cariad_?’

Looking up slightly to catch the smirk on her fiancée’s face, and simultaneously registering the fact that the track had reached its chorus, Patsy collapsed in awkward giggles on the conveniently-situated chest just below her; content, for now, to listen rather than respond as she fumbled with the referenced upper layer of fabric.

_‘ ’Cause you make me feel  
You make me feel  
You make me feel like a natural woman’_

Only once the verse returned did she summon the strength to stop laughing and apologise. ‘I’m sorry, love. I did want to undress you completely before getting carried away, but we’ve become rather good at quick changes over the years – and, well, you make me feel –’

Delia cut in a second time. ‘Like a natural woman?’ she asked, and Patsy felt herself turning as red as her hair as she was laughed at, before the brunette took pity. ‘Shall we pause and listen to the rest, Pats?’

_‘When my soul was in the lost and found  
You came along, to claim it  
I didn't know just what was wrong with me  
’Til your kiss helped me name it’_

She knew she _then_ looked horrified. ‘No! That is,’ she stopped, feeling sheepish, ‘I’ve got the majority of your top half sorted now, and I need the music to stay confident – we haven’t done this for a while, Deels, thanks to my blasted brain –’

‘We have this conversation every year in the lead up to November, _annwyl_ , and you know I don’t mind. You also know, though, that they played this on repeat at The Gates when it was first released, so I’ve learnt the lyrics by heart. That means I know why it’s important for you to keep going now. I didn’t miss that verse, my love. But I’m taking the rest of this uniform off myself. All right?’

Patsy nodded now, fighting an audible gulp as Delia leapt up to make quick work of her uniform, and concentrating on the next section of the song, reminding herself that this part of its message was also true:

_‘Now I'm no longer doubtful of what I'm living for  
And if I make you happy I don't need to do more’_

If Delia was enough (and more) for her, then it followed logically that she must be enough (and more) for Delia.

Why else would she be baring all for her now?

She refused to let her mind ruin this moment for which they had waited over a month.

Especially when the woman who was her wife in every way except legally was slipping back onto their double bed in nothing but her scanties.

Actually not even her full scanties, because Delia’s bra was of course already gone, and she could see a lot else. ‘May I, my love?’ she asked on a whisper, not wanting to muffle any more of the music.

‘Please, Pats,’ Delia breathed.

Shifting position slightly to allow for easier movement, she marvelled mutely at the sight before her as the chorus kicked in again, giving her the courage to caress her beloved brunette’s bare skin.

_‘ ’Cause you make me feel  
You make me feel  
You make me feel like a natural woman’_

Bringing her hands down again, she trailed her right index finger across the contours of her fiancée’s chest, daring eventually to dip down into her cleavage. Delia sighed happily at the subtle sensuality of the gesture, her eyes drifting shut, which Patsy read as a prompt to follow the trail of her finger for a second time – but with her tongue. The bolder move was answered by a moan and Delia arching slightly off the bed towards her touches, so the older woman threw the final wisps of her already wavering caution to the proverbial wind, and used the breath she had gained by this decision to blow softly. Then she continued reverently, switching between tongue and teeth and fingers, wanting her various motions to meld with the music and convey everything she felt incapable of communicating verbally.

_‘Oh, baby, what you done to me?  
You make me feel so good inside  
And I just wanna be close to you  
You make me feel so alive’_

Apparently, if her lover’s responses were accurate signals, the messages were getting through well enough. Delia’s sighs and moans were now competing with the Dansette for volume and vehemence. She hoped the Queen of Soul would be impressed rather than offended. Either way, if she wished to make the most of the music, she needed to speed things up a little.

Just a little.

Swapping her tongue for her left hand in order not to neglect her duties to two of her favourite parts of her little love’s figure, she used her now free mouth to meander downwards again and find her third, and place soft kisses over her partner’s perfectly-proportioned stomach and sides on her journey there.

Only when her lips met the edge of Delia’s knickers, the last remaining article of her underwear, did Patsy pause her palming and move her hands down to pull the garment off; the Welshwoman wiggling her hips in helpful and hopeful anticipation of what was to come with the third iteration of the chorus.

_‘You make me feel  
You make me feel  
You make me feel like a natural woman’_

With Delia’s naked beauty finally on full display below her, the redhead leant to kiss her beloved brunette firmly on the mouth, slipping her own pyjama shirt off her shoulders at the same time, so they could at last have the skin-on-skin contact they both craved. Then, and only then, could she summon to the strength to break her silence to seek the necessary consent for anything further. Whispering in her lover’s ear, she simply asked, ‘May I?’ – to which Delia responded by opening her eyes and nodding emphatically.

 _‘You make me feel_  
 _You make me feel_  
 _You make me feel like a natural woman_ ’

Aptly, as the fourth and final chorus met both their ears, they seemed to share in another sensation: a gasp when a pair of fumbling fingers met _their_ desired destination, and tickled over the crop of curls which had ached so long to be touched. Somewhat unexpectedly, Patsy was glad that the song would cease before Delia reached her climax. She had originally thought to use it as a cover to increase her confidence, as she had said, but now that they were here…well, the only sounds of interest were the ones her “Welsh Wonder” was making.

They were enough to turn her touches into less timid strokes, then finally into the circles her _cariad_ craved.

‘ _Oh – Oh – Oh –_ ’

Just small ones to start with, though, as she was waiting for the definite signal that her darling was ready.

‘ _Duw, Pats_!’

She had it – so, with her sweetheart’s slip into her native tongue, she slipped her fingers into a faster rhythm. And as she took Delia closer and closer to that elusive edge, she heard that they were mutually keeping their breath shallow until – at last – their lovemaking reached its natural conclusion, and they both cried out, relieved by the release which told them they were natural women, after all.

**Author's Note:**

> I love this song so much and it's always felt like such a perfect fit for our girls, especially coming out (pun absolutely intended) in 1967, after partial decriminalisation of homosexuality in England and Wales earlier that year. Hopefully I've captured its significance.
> 
> A musical note: obviously Aretha Franklin's version is the original recording, but as mentioned in the fic, it was written for her by Carole King. She recorded her own take on it later for her album _Tapestry_ , and it's amazing too. If you haven't listened to it, it's here: https://youtu.be/KQXY8zwQgmc


End file.
